Nagging Wishes
by PrettyPurpleHaze
Summary: Everyone knows Harry's doubts always nag him . . . Dana/Harry Set after Season 1


Title: Nagging Wishes  
  
Feedback: Are you serious? Is there any other answer? Of course I want it, YES! PLEASE!  
  
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THEM. There, simple enough. And the song is 'Girl Like You' by Edwyn Collins. Very nice.  
  
Distribution: Ask me, I'm nice, I'll say yes.  
  
Rating: Hmm, Light R  
  
Summary: Harry checks out something and finds Dana there.  
  
Author's Note: Since I'm still at work with my longer story I've finished this one up for those who just couldn't wait. You know who you are :)  
  
***  
  
I shouldn't be here, I should trust her but the truth is that I don't. I just don't. She told me she was going to quit, not in so many words but it was said. But I'm still here, still checking because I *don't* trust her and just because she isn't my student anymore doesn't mean that I can stop thinking about what she's doing.  
  
I take a big breath before I step in. I need preparation for the dim red lights and musty look, preparation for the less than inviting smell of hot wings, sweat, cigarettes and men who could never be near the likes of the girls on stage if they weren't waving their dollar bills.  
  
Stage side or back table is a tough choice, surprising her a second time might compound the problem but if she sees me in front of her she might run off stage again. Part of me hopes that will happen just so I don't see her showing everything for the revolting assortment of beer guzzling, wing sucking men in the audience.  
  
Stage side.  
  
There's a redhead twisting a grinding into the floor in front of me, she's smiling at me but she isn't whom I came to see. A loud drunk beside me urges her on, holding a bill just out of reach for her and she tries to entice him a time or two before giving up and moving on. After she leaves he laughs and pushes my shoulder.  
  
"Always hold it outta reach, they'll spend more time tryin' to get it than if you just give it to 'em."  
  
He's toothless and at least in his seventies, dirty and stained. He laughs again and turns his attention back to the stage. These are the men she dances for; this is why she cried in my classroom. She's poor and she's a stripper, I just wished she wasn't so equally ashamed of the two.  
  
They announce another dancer and a hip-hop beat takes over as a woman with softly colored hair gets on stage. Hair like Dana's but her hair isn't real, her dark roots protest that so called fact as she begins her dance. The nurse outfit she's wearing is gradually disappearing as she continues and by now I'd imagine that pole has to be pretty gross. In the short time I've been here it's been subjected to much humping and thrusting and by the way this dancer almost allows her patrons to almost pass the 'No Touching' rule I wouldn't want to be the next up to even get near that metal cesspool.  
  
Unfortunately the gathering of germs comes to me as she tosses out her white bra with the red symbols of healing. It lands on my head and I pull it off with disgust that I may be hiding badly, she winks and goes about her swaying and dipping to collect her tips. I look away but I don't think she cares, more concerned about the money being packed into her g-string.  
  
"They like you tonight," the drunk beside me comments with another hacking laugh.  
  
She finally leaves the stage and yet another steps up to a bouncing club base, you'd think they'd take a break.  
  
"Drink . . . Mr. Senate?"  
  
Her blonde hair is real and it's Dana. She's wearing a silver bikini top and bottom with and a skirt made of black mesh. Her hair is curly and loose, her shoes are high, and her face is shocked.  
  
"Da--"  
  
"What are you doing here?" she interrupts. Her chin goes up as defense but she seems like she's going to cry anyway.  
  
"I haven't heard from you since graduation and wanted to see if you really quit this job, I guess the truth from you is an impossible scenario."  
  
"I never said I was going to quit," she protests.  
  
"I thought it was implied."  
  
"Where would have it been implied?"  
  
She looks to her left and I follow her, a burly man with red curly hair is approaching us, he wears a green T-shirt and jeans, standard ass-kicking wear I guess. His mustache seems a little out of place on his face with his crooked nose somehow but I'm not going to tell him that.  
  
"You're suppose to be serving now, if Greg sees you talking to this cheapskate your going to get in trouble."  
  
Apparently he's seen my less than amicable tipping skills and he eyes me before turning back to Dana and I'm fairly sure heâEs thinking of snapping my neck. I could be quiet but by the time he leaves Dana might be gone too and I don't think I want that chance.  
  
"We were talking."  
  
Her eyes go wide that I spoke up to the obvious bouncer and he turns to me with an expression that makes me *certain* he wants to snap my neck. He's twice my size and I'm sitting down staring up at him, advantage is on his side, it isn't an entirely great situation.  
  
"You want to talk you pay for a private dance."  
  
Towering giant ask, towering giant receive. "I'll take a private dance."  
  
I finally look at her and she doesn't seem mad at me, in fact she seems absolutely terrified that the man that's supposed to protect her is about to kill me. Her eyes are wide and her eyebrows are knotted in worry.  
  
"Fine. Thorough those curtains, stay there." I look back to him and then the curtains with the neon sign above them. 'Luscious Room'. I get up and look at Dana once more before heading back.  
  
Through the curtains the smell of is different, sweat and the unpleasant scent of all the travailing businessmen who couldn't control themselves. It's a big room covered with red velvet every inch, every inch I can see anyway, it's darker than on the other side of the curtains and it's almost enough to make you stumble.  
  
When my eyes finally adjust I can see the various dances taking place though the huge space.  
  
Apparently the 'No touching' doesn't hold strong back here with the velvet couches. A sign stands next to  
  
me telling me to stay put until my dancer arrives. It's uncomfortable but it doesn't take long before someone takes my hand and leads me to a couch.  
  
I'm forced down and a gloved hand travels down my chest. It may be dim but not dim enough to make me think this is Dana. I grab a brunette's hand and hold it.  
  
"Where is the woman I was talking to?"  
  
"Oh, she doesn't really do Luscious Room," she explains with a smile. "But I do, I do *a lot* in the Luscious Room."  
  
Her hand tries to move again but I won't let it. I stare at her and tell her something that I probably shouldn't on a teacher's salary.  
  
"Tell whoever I'll pay triple the private room fee if she dances for me."  
  
Her eyebrows go up and she asks me if I'm sure and she can give me her desirable look all she wants but it's not her I'm going to pay for. Finally she sighs and gets off of me, brushing against the front of my pants as she goes and even if it's an accident it might not look like that when Dana gets here.  
  
I'm alone again in a room full of velvet that now seems as fake as the gasps and sighs from women being paid to make them. Clicks announce her arrival as her heels stop in front of me and she seems angry.  
  
"I hope you can pay for this," she whispers. "I'm still trying to get tuition together."  
  
She bunches up her skirt a little, but not to sit next to me on the fake couch, no she does to straddle my lap. She isn't really touching me all that much, her knees are on either side of me and it's just them and her calves that are pressed against my outer thigh. She's looking down on me with the curls she's made hanging forward, her hands still hold her nearly invisible skirt up and her breasts . . . Once I said they were practically in my face, that was the day that we kissed, that was the day she was leaning next to me they weren't nearly as close as this.  
  
"I didn't ask you back here for this," I tell her as she towers above me and a different song begins. The words I catch are so wholly ironic that it feels like a WB teen drama.  
  
-| I've never known a girl like you before. |-  
  
Brilliant.  
  
"I don't care what you asked for, this is all you'll get. Be honored, you're my first private."  
  
She stands in front of me and begins to move, tracing her hands over her body like they aren't even her own. Private's hands, the way she touches when no one sees and they caress her as eyes slip shut and hips move with the song. Her head falls back as her right palm slides down side to catch just the edge of her skirt. Her fingers slip into the band below her bellybutton and if it weren't so dim I could probably see them as well as the silver bottoms that shimmer as she moves.  
  
-| You give me just a taste so I want more. |-  
  
She pulls her hand away but a thumb dips into the flimsy material and tugs it down just a little, catching the bikini bottoms and reveling an expanse of bare hip. I can't swallow; it's hard to swallow when I'm watching her and I shouldn't be watching her. I came to see if she was doing all right and now I'm just one of those revolting masses whom drools over her body.  
  
-| Cause now you got me crawling, crawling on the floor. |-  
  
Her hands now travel over her stomach and breasts as she bends her knees to lean over and show an ample amount of cleavage. Her head dips forward before dramatically tossing back with a flood of wild curls and eyes that burn into mine. She straightens herself and circles her hips like a belly dancer as her hair cascades to one side. Her arms cover her chest bashfully as she turns her back to me even if her expression shows lust. Lust, for whom? For me? For whomever she imagines when her eyes close. She stares over her shoulder with utter experience.  
  
-| Hope that I'm talking allegorically, know that I'm talking by the way I feel. |-  
  
One arm still covers her chest as a hand goes to the tie on her back. She grasps one of the silver strings and pulls, I'm still looking into her eyes but I can see how she moves slowly as the long string is drawn out. She tangles into the loose knot until it isn't a knot anymore and her back has nothing to mar it's natural beauty. Next is the tie at the nape of her neck, slow again but at the same moment it's undone quickly and she turns to face me.  
  
-| Yes, you've come along, and I've never met a girl like you before. |-  
  
"STOP!"  
  
-| Yeah, it's all right, yeah, it's all right. |-  
  
I've finally found my voice. The song is fading and another is starting, some dancers are leaving but others still continue, as they aren't yet done. She's still standing in front of me, arms over her breasts and I can't stop my eyes from darting back and forth from them to her face. She seems angry . . . and ashamed.  
  
"Not a satisfactory job?" she asks with venom.  
  
"Well, thumbs up for the emotional start but the continuation seemed a little over acted," I spit back. I think I'm more angry with myself anyway, for giving in and watching her, for not stopping sooner.  
  
"Thumbs aren't the only thing *up*, Mr. Senate," she retorts.  
  
Looking down I see I'm not entirely a non-participating spectator in this situation. I am a pig, I should be looking out for her, not getting turned on by her. Even if, in my defense, she was performing a striptease for me.  
  
"Do you want to continue or not?" she asks as if there's more than one answer.  
  
"No."  
  
"Fine, bye."  
  
She whirls away and starts to leave but I catch the gauzy fabric of her skirt and she stops to look at me with extreme anger.  
  
"Dana, please."  
  
She seems to lose her anger and sadness covers her face as she desperately tries to cover her arms more fully over her breasts. She talks softly when she answers; her voice seems weary when she manages.  
  
"What do you want from me, Mr. Senate?"  
  
What do I want from her? . . . I want to help her.  
  
"When do you get off work?"  
  
"I have a show in twenty minutes."  
  
"Please skip it."  
  
"I--"  
  
"Dana, it's important."  
  
She looks at the floor and not my face as she slowly nods her head.  
  
"I'll try and leave early but I can't make any promises."  
  
She leaves and I take a minute before I follow. When I come out I can hear her arguing with the bouncer as she hold a pink satin-esque robe tightly around her.  
  
"I'm not doing it. I do every dance I'm supposed to, I come on time, I give a percentage of my tips!"  
  
"We both know why you do that," bouncer answers and it's pretty clear someone in this club know Dana's real age besides us.  
  
"Come on, I'm just asking to leave forty-five minutes early," she says in the same way she tries to get out of detention . . . tried, she's not a student anymore.  
  
"Fine," he relents. "But no more favors for a month!"  
  
"Thanks, Nelson," Dana smiles as she leaves and disappears backstage.  
  
He turns and catches me watching. He looks like he really wants to hit me and balls his fist at his side before walking away.  
  
I head for the bar and order a shot of something strong; a tired looking man slides it my way and calls it the house special. It doesnâEt burn when it goes down which is nice but when it hits my stomach it feels like my whole body is on fire. The man, older under closer inspection, just smiles and takes the money I laid on the bar.  
  
"Mr. Senate?"  
  
I turn and she's before me and transformed. I can tell my self that even if she still looks like temptation personified. Just more subtle now. Her hair is in a ponytail and she's wearing a light purple, short sleeved shirt with blue jeans. A giant black canvas purse is on her shoulder and she wears the same amount of make-up as before but without the play up of her outfit it doesn't look specially made to entice, it just does.  
  
"Ready?" I ask. She nods and we head off. I can feel the liquor in my senses and it makes me wonder what I just drank. I'm not drunk in the least, enough high school and college blow outs upping my tolerance level bit by bit, but it still feels more relaxed and for that I'm thankful.  
  
When we walk out she hangs back a little but not enough that shows it's intentional and that if I stop I'll look foolish for making the assumption. But I know it is, she doesn't want to be with me, to hear what I have to say. If I were she I wouldn't want to know either.  
  
I unlock my car door and open it for her but she just looks at me and shakes her head.  
  
"Dana--"  
  
"I saw Jacob give you a drink, I just think it'd be better if I drove. If you don't mind."  
  
"Just a shot and I . . ." she doesn't seem to be giving in and I can't help but wonder if this is another thing that she hopes will make me give up and leave her behind.  
  
She hopes any little thing will do.  
  
But I hand her the keys anyway.  
  
"Be my guest."  
  
Her hands that traced over her bare form all to short a time ago reach out and take the keys from me. She doesn't look at me but instead moves around the car and opens the driver's side before she gets in. I watch her and then tap the roof absently and enter myself. She puts on her seatbelt and starts the car before putting her hands on her lap and sitting there.  
  
"Where to?"  
  
"I don't know," I answer. Coffee is so trite and I don't want to talk to her over the raised voices of diners.  
  
"Ice cream?"  
  
I see her mouth twitch a little and she turns to me.  
  
"Ice cream?"  
  
"Good for the spirit."  
  
She smiles a little and takes hold of the wheel; pulling out and heading for . . . ice cream. It's a ridiculous idea but it made her smile so maybe that will make her more receptive, more able to listen. Maybe.  
  
After ten minutes she passes the ice cream parlor and keeps on as I look over.  
  
"They don't have Mint Chocolate Chip," she says without looking.  
  
It's another five minutes of silence until she pulls into a gas station and cuts the engine.  
  
"Stay here."  
  
She gets out and leaves. The night is comforting as I look to the concrete wall and the random graffiti of 'B + M'. I look at the dash but the light up clock isn't on and I reach over to turn the key and I see it.  
  
She left the keys.  
  
She took her purse.  
  
She's gone.  
  
I sit back in my seat and run my hand through my hair. I'm an imbecile. I knew I didn't trust her but . . . but I started to and maybe it was the shot of mystery alcohol. No, I can't blame it on that because I know it wasn't, it was just my good confidence, my dumb ass good confidence.  
  
"Hey," she said as the car door swings open. "I got you Fudge Ripple."  
  
She pushes a plastic bag onto my lap and gets in, securing her seatbelt once more. She glances at me before staring ahead and preparing to pull out. I know she can tell what I thought, my mouth slightly agape when she came back, but she doesn't mention it and neither do I as we leave.  
  
She flexes on the wheel and stretches her fingers as she looks at the dark streets and speaks.  
  
"I know a place."  
  
"Okay," I agree. It's simple. Okay. The ice cream is cold on my lap but I'm not complaining because talking is done for now, it's felt in the air. The quiet interior set the rule, our slightly awkward feelings set the rule: Silence until the 'place'.  
  
The drive isn't that long, just fifteen minutes by the light green numbers on the dash, and we start on a road darker than the rest. There aren't any streetlights as we climb a hill and the path is clear even before we pull up to the clearing with the line of cars before us. A Make-Out Point. She seems nervous but I know the implication is NOT clear. She doesn't want to grope and touch in the backseat; she just wanted a place to go.  
  
"Don't worry," I comfort and she nods. She reaches and I push the bag to her while she digs inside. Out Mint Chocolate Chip gets pulled along with two plastic spoons and when she holds one out I take it from her before she uncaps the slightly melted dessert.  
  
I watch as her spoons swirls in the mass I know is a light green even if I can't see with the light of the moon and the city below us. Simple at this moment, everything seems so simple but the pervading silence makes it easy to tell that it's untrue. I find my own pint and open it, stabbing the spoon in without really wanting any.  
  
"Mr. Senate?" Dana asks with half a mouthful.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Why did you come to the club tonight?"  
  
"To see if you had quit."  
  
" . . . Why do you care?"  
  
. . . Because I've known you for three years, because you were my student, because I still feel responsible for you, because I do feel things for you and I want it to be protective and not anything else.  
  
"Because I wanted to know that you were okay."  
  
"That's not an answer," she tells me plunging her spoon in the carton and looking at me. "It's not what I was asking."  
  
I look down at the chocolate swirls and answer.  
  
"I know."  
  
It's quiet again before she speaks. "I'm sorry about tonight. I was just so mad I . . . I wanted you to feel uncomfortable, and then after the anger . . . maybe I just wanted to show you what you missed."  
  
I look at her and she smirked those last words in a funny, sentimental way that isn't funny or sweet at all but too sentimental to dismiss.  
  
"It worked," I say with a slight laugh and the tension eases a little.  
  
"It's okay that you reacted. It happens a lot and you shouldn't feel bad, or embarrassed, or whatever."  
  
"Thanks." I mean it.  
  
"No problem," she whispers.  
  
"Dana?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Are you ever going to quit?"  
  
She turns and gives me a slight smile and I see now that she never really told me she would, it was what I wanted to believe.  
  
"Yeah, I will. When I get a little more cash, maybe in a couple of years when I know my tuition will be paid and . . . Then I will."  
  
"Good," I admit with a nod. Acceptance, she goes back to her food a little lighter from my comment because that's what she needed. Maybe she needed it from me. I clear my throat and close the carton in my hands without tasting it. "I think it's time to go."  
  
"Yeah," she agrees a little sadly because we both know it isn't likely we'll see each other again.  
  
She puts away her things and starts the car up and we descend the hill and we go down the road to turns and twists until she parks in front of a building Lisa Grear once told me she calls home.  
  
We sit in the peace for a bit before she grabs the door handle and it relents with a clunk. She steps out without a word and unhurriedly makes her way around the car and to the front door of the building before she turns with her doe eyes telling me what I know.  
  
Good-bye.  
  
I wave anyway even if it doesn't matter and she pushes her attention away from me to the heavy, dark wood door and I see her fingertips rest on it just a moment before she opens it and is gone.  
  
And I wish Dana Poole good luck.  
  
The End.  
  
Feedback is a good thing. 


End file.
